


What Must One Do for Privacy Around Here?

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Frustration, Shameless Smut, Smut, interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris are back together after three years; passion burning high, eager to make up for the lost time. But it seems that everone and everything is conspiring agains them, robbing them of their 'special time together'.  Fenris is getting frustrated; he realises she's the Champion of Kirkwall, and a million things depend on her, but what must one do for privacy around here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Must One Do for Privacy Around Here?

Fenris growled with impatience, then, when Hawke’s gaze shifted towards him, he quickly schooled his expression into his usual stoic, unreadable mask. She gave him a small apologetic smile before turning back to her discussion with the Knight Captain.

He resisted the urge to start tapping his foot. It didn’t help any with his frustration that the Knight Captain had that soft, adoring look in his eyes and that a ghost of a fond smile kept playing around the corners of his mouth.

 _Apostate issues my unshod foot_ , Fenris thought, his frustration mounting. The man scarcely lost any chance to engage Hawke in conversation; coming over her house was just the latest of what to Fenris were clear efforts on Cullen’s part to win over her affection.

As if. Hawke was his. He was Hawke’s. Vendetis, it had taken them –no, not them, _him_ \- three years, but now they were back together; if they could lose the crowd that was continuously trailing after them it would be so much better. It was only his rigid discipline, the years he had spent learning not to show his emotions that now stopped him from marching over there and giving the man a piece of his mind.

Said mind now drifted to the night she had come to call the reconciliation night. His heart had never beaten with such force; his hands had never trembled so much as he had laid himself bare at her feet, letting his walls down for her. _If there is a future to be had_ , he had told her, _I will gladly walk into it by your side_. She had smiled-he would never forget her radiant, joyful smile, the happiness that had sparkled in her feline yellow eyes- and had whispered that if there was a future to be had, by his side was the only way she would ever want to walk into it.

His heart still missed a beat when he thought about it, and what had happened next.

He closed his eyes momentarily, remembering. Maker, the feel of her silky skin, the sweet taste of her mouth, her musky, exotic scent, her breathless cries. The way she had writhed underneath him, the way her eyes had fogged with pleasure and desire.

The way she had screamed his name. The way he had lost himself in her, her scent, her touch, her body. He could still remember the bliss of that one perfect moment when he had joined his body to hers again, the overwhelming feeling of belonging, of returning home; he could still remember- and always would- how she had cried his name, how her body had clenched around him, welcoming him back.

That night...that one perfect night, losing and finding himself in the ecstasy her love gave him. He couldn’t wait to feel that again, to feel her nubile body become one with his, to hold her tight and show her what he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

His blood started heating at the recollection, arrows of lust shooting straight down to his groin and hardening him so fast for her, so urgently, that he nearly felt faint, all his blood leaving his head to travel south.

Damn it. Would that irritating man ever go? He needed to have her. Again. And again. And then again and forever and a day. And then one more time, for good measure.

He huffed irritably then shuffled his feet, turning to the side to make sure that the very obvious sign of his arousal wasn’t visible.

“Messere Fenris,” Cullen’s smooth, cultivated voice rang out. “I would appreciate your opinion on this matter as well.”

The white-haired elf raised an eyebrow at this and Hawke shot an irritated look to Cullen. “Cullen wants to know what you think of Meredith’s plan to increase the templars’ numbers in Kirkwall.”

Fenris’ lip curled a bit in derision. Not that he had a problem with templars, but this particular one was beginning to annoy him to a degree that antipathy started to set in. There that blasted man was, keeping him from his Hawke, and now he had a sly look on his eyes; the insufferable twit knew that the mage-templar issue was one that usually caused resentment between Hawke and Fenris. He narrowed his eyes at the templar. Was he trying to drive a wedge between them?

“This city is awash with templars as it is, if you ask me,” he folded his arms against his chest, giving Cullen a threatening stare. “One cannot even spend a quiet evening at home without one of them underfoot.”

Cullen’s eyes widened a bit and he shot Fenris a slightly –and well concealed- look of dislike before he smiled at Hawke. “It seems my presence here is unwelcome, Champion...”

“Indeed it is,” Fenris smoothly interrupted.

“Fenris!” she hissed, dismayed, but he just sent her a heated look, and then stared at Cullen as he leisurely excused himself and took his leave.

“What was that about?” she whirled on him, shocked that he had actually insulted Cullen and driven him off.

The elf crossed the space between them with smooth, efficient strides, then grabbed her by the forearms to push her against the nearest wall. His eyes fell on her lips, parted with a small surprised gasp; his chest vibrated with a growl. A corded thigh pushed between her thighs, forcing them apart.

Just as his mouth was about to devour hers in the kiss he had been longing for all day, a door opened behind them and footsteps echoed.

“ENCHANTMENT!!”

“Vasta vass!”

* * *

Marian Hawke was pissed. Fenris was not paying her any attention, engrossed in his card game with Varric and Donnic. She tapped her foot impatiently against the floor. Maker, she had bathed for hours, done her legs, - not to mention having Isabela give her a wax in an area she’d never wanted Isabela to see - and given her servants the nights off, all in hope of spending the night alone with him. And here he was, gambling the night away, engrossed in his hand, barely sparing her a glance.

Isabela wrapped an arm around her shoulders and passed her a mug of ale, chuckling softly.

“All that trouble with the wax, and your lanky elf is holed up with his mates, playing cards...awww...poor kitten,” the busty pirate drawled and winked.

Hawke gave her a frustrated look. The waxing had hurt, damn it, and she had been hoping to surprise Fenris with it.

“What wax?” Fenris spoke up, not even taking his eyes from his hand.

“I gave Hawke a wax today...I have to say, Fenris, you are one lucky, lucky man...” Isabela purred. “She is so beautiful down there, made my mouth drool.”

Fenris’ ears perked up and then he slowly turned his head to look at Hawke, realization dawning in his eyes, which instantly darkened. He tossed his cards on the table amid snickers and wolf calls from both Varric and Donnic and grabbed her arm, dragging her outside behind him.

Once they were in the hall, he pushed her against the wall and slipped his hand under her skirt; his fingers came in touch with incredibly smooth, baby fine skin, totally devoid of hair, already hot and moist for him. She moaned and threw her head back, whispering his name. Fenris growled, his fingers caressing her womanhood, spreading her cream around, making her legs tremble.

“No smallclothes?” his voice was hoarse with desire, his breath laboured.

She just nodded no, enthralled by the dark, carnal look on his usually stoic face.

She moaned as his fingers slipped inside her, stretching her, making her whimper. She was suddenly assaulted by longing so strong, so potent, she was prepared to let him have his wicked way with her, right there in the hall of the Hanged Man, outside Varric’s suite.

“Are you one of them?” they heard a voice behind them, and Fenris jolted, seemingly just then realising how exposed they were; he drew his fingers away from her and  stepped back. The Talkative Man was looking at them with a vacant look in his eyes.

Fenris’ whole face blushed furiously red, and Hawke banged her head against the wall, totally frustrated.

He grabbed her hand again and they went down the stairs together, her snickering, him totally mortified, while Varric could be heard talking to the man.

“That man over there,” the talkative man was saying, “he's been staring at me for an entire hour. I counted.”

 **“** Maybe he likes you.”

 **“** No. He knows. He knows that I know. But what he does not know is that I know that he knows that I know.”

 **“** How do you know that he doesn't know that you know that he knows that you know, you know?”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

Fenris rolled on his side, trying to find a position his aching bones would feel comfortable in. He felt absolutely wretched.

A soft hand landed on his forehead.

“You’re burning up, honey,” she kept her voice low, knowing it would only aggravate his headache. “Try to get up, Fenris, time for another bath.”

He complied, groaning in pain and discomfort. Damn this cold. They had been returning from the Wounded Coast when they had been caught in a sudden downpour and by the time they’d made it back to the city he’d already started sneezing and feeling light-headed.

Maker be blessed for Hawke, who had come to check up on him after she hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him for a whole day, and found him burning up, as sick as a dog.

She had quickly tried to make him as comfortable as possible, running back and forth between his mansion and hers, carrying clean linen, fresh smelling night clothes, soup and medicinal teas. She had cleaned the room up in record time, given him a lukewarm bath to cool him down, and fed him a light broth, which was the only thing his rolling stomach could tolerate.

He hated her seeing him like this, weak as a newborn kitten, but he was also incredibly grateful that she seemed so devoted to his well-being. Had anybody ever taken care of him like this? He was sure he had a mother once, but that didn’t mean anything. Few women had Hawke’s fiercely protective, caring instincts.

She tried to help him to his feet and he fell back with a soft groan; his stomach was rolling again, and his head was pounding.

“Well, I guess I will have to sponge you down,” she murmured, having tried for the third time to get him to the tub and failing.

Despite his illness, despite his incapacitating weakness, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of want go through him at the idea. Maker, he was burning up already, he didn’t need to get any hotter, but the idea of Hawke running a washcloth all over his body...well. It was good to know his cock could respond, even when he was half-dead and feeling like crap.

She noticed, too, as she raised the loose shirt she had put on him to make him more comfortable, and chuckled lightly.

“Someone is happy to see me, I think,” she cupped him gently, and Fenris had to suppress another groan.

“Hawke. Concentrate.”

“Hard to. It’s a big distraction,” she laughed, just before wringing her rag and gently running it over his face and down his neck.

Fenris hissed as the cool rag came in contact with his heated, sweat-slicked skin, and then purred contently, when the sensation of burning up eased for a while. She continued down his body, over his chest and down his stomach, then down his muscled legs, avoiding his groin. The cool breeze blowing through the window felt like heaven on his overheated skin.

For what felt like hours she continued bathing him, laying cool rags on his forehead and on his pulse points, trying to lower the fever that was raging through his body. Fenris had long ago surrendered to her care, not caring anymore if he was appearing as a weakling in her eyes; his headache was easing up, and he could actually open his eyes without the sunlight driving daggers of pain through his brain. His markings were humming pleasantly under her touch and his body was starting to cool down from the fever and now heating up for a completely different reason.

Her cool, tender hands were running over every inch of him. Her voice was crooning sweet nothings to him; her kiss on his forehead wanted to make him cry with the amazing comfort it brought him. Such heart-warming love and tenderness in just one soft kiss, barely there; it made his heart expand in his chest. It made him wonder- for the thousandth time- what he had ever done to deserve her.

Maker, he needed to get sick more often.

He cracked one eye open as she cupped him again and a corner of his mouth rose upwards.

“A tempting offer, Hawke. Best be careful what you instigate,” he warned her, his whole body languid and boneless with both fatigue and contentment; his manhood seemed to have other ideas, though, because it stirred under her touch, hardening for her and twitching with eagerness.

She just smiled sweetly and then bent down, running the tip of her tongue across the slit at the top, making him hiss and jerk.

“I was under the impression you were trying to cool me down,” his voice rumbled in his chest; his eyes closed again in bliss as her lips circled him, drawing him in the moist, hot cavern of her mouth.

She chuckled around his length, the vibrations making him moan brokenly. Maker, her mouth was bliss, her tongue so talented, the way her hand was cupping him and playing with him was pure heaven.

“Hm, hm,” they heard a throat being cleared from the doorway, and Hawke jerked away, her teeth scratching against him; Fenris yelped and cupped his groin, going cross-eyed with pain.

Hawke raised a red face to look at Anders standing in the doorway.

“I don’t think that was what I had in mind when I told you to keep him comfortable, Hawke,” the blond healer looked away, blushing. “I...ermm...will leave the potion you requested...somewhere in the hall.” He quickly left, but then they heard his chuckle in the hallway. “Be sure to...disinfect those scratches. We don’t want his dick falling off. Well, you don’t. I wouldn’t mind.”

Hawke’s head dropped, much as Fenris’ erection had.

“Fuck,” she just said. “I think they’re doing it on purpose.”

* * *

“And then the man told me I wasn’t allowed to be in there,” the petite elf scrounged up her tattooed face in curiosity. “Why wasn’t I supposed to be in there? It’s the only place in Kirkwall with flowers and green. Flowers should be appreciated, shouldn’t they?”

Hawke smiled at Merrill, while watching Fenris out of the corner of her eye. He was in the yard, practicing. The day was blistering hot, and the elf had forgone his usual spiky armour, going through his stances only clad in a thin tunic over his leather britches, moving with the eerie grace of a dancer.

_Concentrate Hawke, concentrate. Don’t think of that sinfully handsome elf, all sweaty, his body sleek and wet under that tunic._

“Ermm, they are the Viscount’s private gardens, Merrill,” she struggled to focus on the elf in front of her, rather than the one she could see through the window. “Private being the operative word here.”

Merrill blinked. “What’s the use of a garden if it’s private? The flowers are wilting, they get no attention whatsoever. And there are guards there, Hawke.  Why are guards there? Shouldn’t they be out there...guarding people? You know...against crime and stuff like that?”

Hawke snuck another look out the window and her eyes nearly crossed. Fenris had removed his tunic. _My, oh my_. He was sweat-slicked, his skin glistening in the sun. The markings were catching the sun’s rays and glinting like liquid silver embedded in his muscles, wrapped lovingly around his lanky, toned frame like vines around a young strapping oak. He dropped down into a fighting stance, huge greatsword held effortlessly at the ready, and then blurred in a flurry of perfectly orchestrated moves, grace and violence blending into a mix that took her breath away.

Merrill was talking to her again, something about the flowers at the Viscount’s garden, but it was like background noise to her. All her attention, _Maker_ , even her next breath, was focused on the elf that was practicing in the yard, muscles rippling, tendons on stark relief, feet dancing through his stances. She could practically hear the whooshing sound of the sword, his quickened breath, she could see the little frown of concentration between his dark eyebrows, could taste his exhilaration with the intense physical workout. Her body heated, her limbs started weighing tons. She could tell her breath was coming in short, excited pants, and that her whole body had flushed a warm pink. Maker, her nipples were so hard they could probably cut glass, and she was certain her smalls would soon start sticking to the sofa.

“Hawke? Are you okay?” Merrill touched her arm, making her jerk. She looked at the petite elf, licking suddenly dry lips.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yes,” she tried to control her breath. “Fine. Perfectly fine. Peachy. Didn't you have somewhere to be?”

Merrill tilted her head to the side, her eyes wide with surprise. Green eyes. Like Fenris’ eyes, which turned to a rich cypress green with arousal... _no, no stop it_ , she admonished herself. _Don’t do that_. _Don’t think of how his eyes darken when he’s buried to the hilt inside you_.

Damn. _Too late_. A little shudder went through her, her body tingling with remembered pleasure.

“Ermmm...you invited me over for tea, Hawke,” Merrill reminded her. “Should I leave?”

“No, no, of course not, Merrill,” she tried to catch her breath. “I just felt a little dizzy for a moment.”

Merrill smiled broadly. “I was telling you about the roses in the garden...”

Hawke did her best not to groan.

* * *

Fenris walked into the Amell mansion feeling almost giddy with anticipation. After weeks of being kept away from her they finally had a day when they could be together, no interruptions, no quests, no unforeseen sicknesses or injuries cutting into their alone time.

He growled low in his throat; one way or the other, every time he tried to indulge into his desire for her, someone or something had interrupted. If it wasn’t one of their erstwhile companions, it was one of her house staff, or an unforeseen visitor. He had been sick for days and just as he had recovered she went and got herself chewed up by dragonlins; she’d had to stay in bed for the better part of a week, while Anders carefully put her broken bones together.

Frustration was eating away at his insides. He was walking around with a permanent hard on, and his dreams had been so erotic, so realistic in their intensity, that time and time again he woke up drenched in sweat and moaning her name.

She wasn’t faring any better; every time they were together her eyes were trailing over him with open invitation written in their yellow depths, a hungry, almost ravenous look on her face. You would have thought that they would be have been able to make up for the interruptions during the night, but with their lifestyle, most nights found them too exhausted to do anything other than tumble into bed and sleep, bone weary and usually sporting small scrapes and injuries that killed any romantic mood.

Fenris sighed with incredible expectation as he walked through the threshold. Her staff had the day off, the rest of their companions were busy with various tasks of their own, and there were no quests. This time, she was his. Maker, he would take her so many times none of them would be able to walk straight by the time he was done with her. He’d fill her up so much, she’d be leaking his seed for a week.

He was already painfully hard. Mental images of her lissom body thrashing underneath him had been tormenting him since the moment he’d woken up. He adjusted the painful fit of his tight leather trousers as he made his way to her bedroom. He’d had to take care of himself last night, rubbing himself raw while imagining her on her knees in front of him, his aching cock buried in her sweet mouth. But it had only stroked the fire of his desire for her, not extinguished it. Maker, he couldn’t wait to have her naked underneath him, he couldn’t wait to recapture the bliss of losing himself in her embrace, to sate his hunger on her soft, feminine flesh. He couldn’t wait for her fogged eyes to look on him with adoration as he took her. He couldn’t wait for the moment, _that perfect moment_ , when he would sink inside her, when he’d join his body to hers. Nothing compared to it, to the feeling of the heat and wetness, of the snug, tight fit of her sheath as it pulsed around him.

The last time he had taken her he had made her say his name again and again and again while he pounded her mercilessly, and then she had gone and added that she loved him as she’d exploded around his cock. Her words had been like an emotional punch to his gut and that, combined with the blistering hot sex, had sent him off into an orgasm so explosive that he swore he could still see the fireworks that had gone off behind his eyelids.

 _Hawke_. Oh, damn it; he was so hard, so on edge for her. His desire was like an angry beast, growling inside him, shredding his insides with its impatience. His cock was hard as steel, it beat with its own heartbeat, throbbing in his britches.

He wanted to hear the words again. He was afraid to seem so needy, so desperate for her affection, especially since he could not bring himself to show his own tender feelings so easily, but he was aching to hear her sweet voice tell him she loved him, her eyes bright with it, her heart laid open and full with nothing but him.

One hunger fed the other, until his body was nearly bursting with need. Love and sex, he wanted both. Lust and affection, they warred in his heart, until he felt it would burst.

She was curled up on her side, slumbering on her huge bed. Feeling his body tense like a bow and his heart huge with tenderness in his chest, he approached her, sat on the edge of her bed and ran a hand that was all but trembling with longing on the silky skin of her shoulder.

She turned, then her eyes closed on a pained little gasp.

“Hawke? Is something the matter?”

She sighed and then her adorable mouth pouted in disappointment.

“I got my menses this morning.”

“Vasta vaas!”

She pouted even more, then winced as a small twinge of pain clenched her stomach. Fenris slumped to the bed next to her, frustration coming off him in waves.

“Cuddles?” she hopefully asked, her eyes shaded with pain. “And maybe a belly rub?”

He sighed, pushed his lust aside, and then ran his hand through her hair. “Certainly, Hawke. I am yours.”

She smiled and snuggled closer, inhaling his smell with a contented purr.

* * *

Fenris rolled on his stomach and buried his head under the pillow. He was warm, he was comfortable, and his body ached from yesterday’s beating. The quest had gone incredibly wrong; he had become distracted during battle by the sight of Hawke bending over to grasp the staff that had been knocked out of her hands. It was for but a second, but it had been enough for his adversary to rush him, pummelling his ribs with his shield. Anders had cast a group healing spell afterwards, but the ache remained and he rolled into his back again, bringing up a forearm to shade his eyes.

He didn't want to get up.

A light touch tickled along his side and he twitched away, grumbling.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Hawke’s voice cajoled him, hoarse from sleep and with that hidden note of amusement that was only directed at him.

“Must we?” he muttered, then tried, without success, to keep her from pulling the blanket away from him.

“We can’t stay in bed all day, Fenris,” she laughed, and he cracked one eye open to look at her.

The frosty look he was about to send her faded as he took in the way she looked, her hair dishevelled, her skin still rosy and warm from sleep, one shoulder of her sleeping sheath slipping down to reveal her creamy skin. Desire slammed into him like a roaring dragon.

“Why not?” he breathed, his voice even hoarser than usual, as he grasped a hand to pull her down to the bed next to him. “I can think of some rather enjoyable diversions we could engage in.”

Her bright smile died on her lips as her eyes fogged over and she worried a plumb lip between her teeth.

 “We will be late,” she protested, but he could already see her heartbeat picking up, her pulse thundering in the hollow of her neck. “Sebastian will be here in a wh...umph!”

She found herself lying on her back, with one very aroused elf settling his weight between her thighs. All protest and logic fled as he ground his rock hard erection against the already moistened fabric covering her core, his eyes burning with lust for her. She swallowed hard at the look of carnal hunger on his face then she felt a pulse of heat spread through her, leaving her boneless, submitting, her smalls moist and clinging to her suddenly burning core.

Time stood still as they stared into each other’s eyes; their breaths stilled, their heartbeats thundered. Fenris lowered his  head to her, his lips inching carefully closer; that first taste, the first shock of tender, plumb lips, the jolt of taste and heat...he lived for it. She craved it, had told him time and time again that his soft kisses had the ability to set her aflame.

“Hawke!” Sebastian’s rich burr sounded from the stairs. “Am I intruding?”

Fenris’ head fell onto her breast, and a sigh escaped him. She swore, luridly, rolled her eyes then slid out of underneath him and out of bed.

“Sebastian,” she cried out as she threw a thin robe over her nude body. “I hope Andraste has come back to visit, or I’m so kicking your ass.”

Fenris growled into the mattress, trying to rein in his arousal as he heard the ex-Prince’s voice asking Hawke what was wrong. He then sighed and rolled out of bed too, with as much grace as his uncomfortably aroused erection allowed.

“Good luck stuffing that thing into those leathers,” Hawke snickered, eyeing him with scarcely veiled amusement and no small amount of longing, and Fenris barely suppressed the urge to growl at her.

“This is getting old,” he remarked, a scowl marring his handsome face.

“And these are getting blue,” she gently cupped him, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. “We have to do something about that.”

“Kill Sebastian and Cullen, fire your servants, gag Anders, and hide Merrill’s twine,” he helpfully supplied.

She nodded. “Deal.”

* * *

Even Merrill caught up with the tension in the air between Hawke and Fenris on their next run of the Wounded Coast. They had gone there to gather more ingredients for Solivitus, a bored Isabela tagging along. Varric was trailing at the back, complaining bitterly about how his boots were getting dusty, and how he hated the outdoors, but for Merrill, this was heaven. Being cooped up in her dinky hovel in the Alienage, she missed the open air and the sunshine. She missed the sand under her toes.

She looked at the couple walking up ahead. Creators, she hoped they hadn't had an argument again! She’d been so happy for them when they’d gotten back together. Hawke smiled more, the weight that she seemed to be carrying on her shoulders appeared to have eased up; she had the soft, dreamy look of a woman in love, and Merrill was tempted to coo at how adorable that was.

Fenris had been more relaxed, more approachable too. He didn't brood as much, and there was a new spring in his step. Merrill could still remember the sad, longing looks he would send Hawke when she wasn’t looking, the ones she had labelled ‘puppy eyes’ and he had so vehemently denied existed. Fenris had never liked her, he was often harsh and abrupt with her, but she still cared for him, like she did with all her friends. She’d always hoped he would find something to ease his suffering- and apparently he had.

The Dalish elf was happy for them, she wanted to sing and dance and shout to the world that if those two could overcome their differences, nothing was impossible, that love and hope could conquer all. She’d been called naive and clueless for being such a hopeless romantic in the past, even by her own people, and she just wanted to howl to the world that she was right to think that people were inherently good, that life and love could bloom in the darkest of places, in the most bitter of hearts.

Seeing them tense and barely speaking now was breaking her spirit.

Isabela sauntered next to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Why the long face, kitten?” she purred and Merrill pouted.

“They aren’t talking to each other,” she shot the pirate a sad look. “Are they angry? Did something happen? Fenris isn’t going to leave her again, is he? That would be horrible!”

Isabela’s smile widened. “Relax kitten,” she lowered her voice. “That’s not the bad kind of tension in the air, if you get my drift.”

Merrill blinked, confused, then looked at the couple in front of her. Fenris was looking at Hawke over his shoulder and Merrill’s breath caught at the longing, carnal look in his dilated eyes. Hawke stumbled under the intensity of his eyes, and nearly fell; he stepped close, quick as a flash to catch her.

Merrill felt her cheeks grow hot as Hawke and Fenris gazed into each other’s eyes, before he growled, low in his throat, and captured her lips in the most possessive, scorching kiss Merrill had ever seen. She watched in awe, wanting to look away but unable to, as his hands roamed over her back, cupped her ass, then pulled a leg up to curl around his waist. Hawke moaned and Merrill fanned her face, Isabela snickering next to her.

Varric caught up with them, looking at something he had stepped and stuck to the sole of his boot with disgust; he slowly lowered his foot and stared in awe as well when he caught sight of the couple that was kissing in the middle of the road, as if they were all alone in the world. He exchanged a look with Isabela, then a devious smile lit up his face.

“Oi, Broody!” he cried out, causing the couple to freeze. “A bit to the left, I can’t see very well.”

“VARRIC!” Merrill slapped his shoulder. “Why did you do that?”

Fenris turned a furiously red face to them, while Hawke hid her blush into his neck. The warrior observed them with a scowl dark enough to curdle milk, then his eyes feel on Merrill, who was the only one that wasn’t snickering and who looked genuinely pissed on their behalf. He nodded to her and then a  bright, understanding smile split Merrill’s face.

Before they knew it, green vines had sprung from the ground, capturing Varric and Isabela and keeping them still.

“Daisy!” Varric tried to protest, before one of the vines covered his mouth.

“Hush,” Merrill said, then nodded to Fenris who smiled and dragged Hawke a short distance away, behind some rocks.

For the next half hour, Merrill did her best to hold on to her spell, although it drained a lot from her.

The sounds –broken moans and pleasured screams- coming from behind the rocks didn't help her concentration either.

“Maker, Fenris, what are you doing?” Hawke half giggled, half protested as he dragged her behind the rocks. “They’ll hear us! We’ll never hear the end of it!”

“I care not,” he growled, then pulled her flush to his body. “I have had enough with interruptions.” His eyes trailed over her face, coming to stop at her mouth, half open and panting already.

“Here? Now?” She looked around, her eyes wide, but the quickening of her breath and pulse betrayed her excitement.

“Here,” he moaned, his hands already pulling her short skirt up. “Now.”

 His hands were magic; those long talented fingers were on fire, burning a path of desire across her skin. His kiss was intoxicating, like heady wine, like a drug that had the ability to fog her mind and steal her better judgement from her. Maker, she ached for him, a consuming hunger in her core, an emptiness only he could fill. Her body trembled, her limbs were turning to melted wax. She moaned as his hands roamed up her thighs, then between them, skimming along her soaked underclothes.

“You’re so wet,” he moaned into her throat, then his head tipped back, and a long, throaty moan escaped him, his body quaking as if an earthquake was going through his frame. “I’m sorry,” he urgently positioned himself at her opening. “I can’t take this any longer. I can’t take it slow.”

“I don’t want slow,” she whimpered. “I want it hard and fast. Fuck me.”

He growled as an answer. In a flash, she was turned around and a rough hand on her back urged her to bend forward. She obliged him, trembling wildly as he ripped her smallclothes off her and fumbled with the laces of his britches. One sure, strong thrust buried him to the hilt inside her, robbing her of her breath and her sanity. Bracing herself on the rough rock with both hands she pushed back on him making him groan and whimper; that wonderfully thick cock of his nudged against the very end of her, filling her to bursting.

It was the most glorious feeling in the world, his rigid length buried inside her, thumping with his furious heartbeat. He was hot and hard inside her, ridged with bulging veins, and her core wrapped around the intruder lovingly, the tender tissues pulsing around him as if trying to draw him even further in, raining wet kisses on his heated flesh. This moment, when he first entered her and held still to savour the sensation, was always her favourite. The feeling of anticipation for the storm that would break when he would start moving, the incredible feeling of completion, of being reunited with the piece of the puzzle that was missing from her, the sound of his ragged breath as he struggled against his lust for her, the smell of his sweat; it was glorious.

Only _this_ was better, the first thrust, deep and long and agonisingly brutal, his length surging inside her; a long, lingering withdrawal that made her sheath flutter, trying to hold him in, then the searing flash of both pain and pleasure as he buried his steely rod deep inside with a thrust that made breath whoosh out of her. Only the one after that even better. And the next, hammering inside her.

 Her knees turned to butter, trembling wildly as the elf behind her moaned her name and then moved with that unnatural speed of his, his markings blazing. She braced with both hands against the onslaught of his furious shafting, and keened his name, her need, her joy. She was well aware that their companions could hear her, the rugged moans and breathless screams she was unable to stop. She was certain they could hear him too, his breath sawing in his lungs, his sexy growls and muttered Tevene that was tumbling from his mouth. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was incredibly loud in the eerie silence of the Wounded Coast; she knew she was giving a show. But she didn't give a fuck; she wanted him, needed him, had to have him buried deep. If he wanted her to, she would be perfectly willing to get down on all fours for him in the middle of the evening vespers, right smack down in the Chantry, with Elthina and the whole congregation watching on.

This wasn’t lust, this wasn’t desire. She needed him like she needed to draw breath, like she needed blood to flow through her veins. Social conventions, shyness, the need for privacy didn't matter in comparison to this; this was animal instinct, primal and primordial. There was no fighting against it. No resisting it. She surrendered her all, gave her all, submitted to the wild, out of control male behind her with no reservations, nothing held back.

This wasn’t love, this wasn’t tenderness. There would be time for those feelings later, time for soft caresses and whispered endearments; right now she was just a female in the throes of passion, wanting her male to just take her, dominate her, fuck her till her bones splintered.

And he did; so well, so totally, so completely like she wanted it. He hammered inside her, long, brutal thrusts, burying his steely hard length to the hilt in a pace that would have made her body throw sparks if she wasn’t so wet, so slick for him. She couldn’t find the breath to even moan as he angled his hips just so and hit that special spot deep inside her; she just grunted, and let the heat take her. Fenris was panting behind her, groaning, his every breath laboured and rough; that sinfully rich, gravelly voice of his was even hoarser, even richer as he urged her on.

“Like this. Yes. Hawke. Like this. Take me.”

Hawke keened her distress at the impending orgasm that was flickering just out of reach, gathering momentum like a dark wave set to crush and take her under, drowning her. She feared it and fought for it at the same time. She knew she would fly apart, she would implode, shatter into fragments of light and joy; but she couldn’t control herself. She had to have it.

“Fenris,” she gasped his name. “More. Faster. Harder. Fenris. More.”

“Come, Hawke,” he leaned over her, his breath on her neck, his body trembling like that of a stallion after running for hours. “Come for me. Let me feel you. Hawke. I can’t...I can’t. Come. Finish me.”

 With a cry that was wretched from the deepest part of her lungs she obeyed him. Her mind went blank, lights and colour robbing her sight, and she drew one, then two convulsive breaths before she screamed as her sheath tightened around him like a vicious fist. Her orgasm burned through her every nerve ending- rapture that bordered agony, pleasure that was strong enough to be painful. He cried out behind her as well, his weight fell on her and she collapsed to her knees, labouring for breath. Another one as she felt scalding hot jets of his seed coat her insides, his cock twitching. Oh, Maker. She was going to die. She would not survive this. And another one. She screamed Fenris’ name, and he moaned in answers, his own body thrashing in the throes of a powerful, brain-shattering climax. His arms wound around her, keeping them both steady and they rode the waves together.

He twitched inside her again, spurting more of his essence with a hoarse, muttered curse. Her core pulsed around his length again, and she groaned her distress, as that last fluttering orgasm was strong enough to cause her pain.

 “No more,” she pleaded, nearly sobbed. “You’re killing me.”

He collapsed on her back, pushing her to the ground, until his whole body covered hers, every inch of had, unyielding muscle resting on her luscious body; she lost her breath as his weight pushed her down. The dust tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze, but she didn't want him to ever move.  Her mind fogged, her body tingling with pleasure, she held her breath, tried to still her galloping heart. Her gaze unfogged, her senses that had been focused on him and the pleasure he was giving her returned one by one. She could feel the hard ground underneath her, the even harder man above her, and the noises that Varric and Isabela were making as they were trying to escape from Merrill’s vines. Fenris was still buried half way inside her, his shaft softening; his seed was already leaking out of her, along with her own moisture.

A violent blush spread all over her face, spreading down her neck and torso, making her ears burn. She fought her mortification at exactly what it was they had just done- rutting like animals with their companions listening- with a small inane giggle.

“That’s what I call between a rock and a hard place,” she breathed and Fenris responded with a slight moan that conveyed both his pleasure and his amusement.

“Am I crushing you?” he asked, his mouth suddenly busy at her nape, kissing and licking the sensitive skin, taking in the salty, tangy taste of her sweaty skin.

“Yes,” she gasped, as desire returned, and arched her ass up to him as much as she could. “But don’t you dare move.”

An almost pained gasp escaped him and then she felt him hardening inside her again. He rocked against her backside, then rose on his forearms, and pushed forward. His groin was now the only point of contact between them as his legs slipped along her thighs and abruptly pushed them closed. She hissed at the feeling, then moaned; his groin was nestled on the curve of her ass, his cock was again rising to the occasion inside her, and the way he had slammed her legs shut only meant that the snugness of the fit was even tighter. He pushed inside her with all the strength in his hips and back, arching his spine backwards, and Hawke keened for him; she was sore, the tender tissues felt bruised, her clit was rubbing against the ground, but if he stopped she would kill him.

“Are you done?” a voice, timid and hesitant reached them from behind the rocks. “I’m sorry to interrupt but it sounds like you’re done...not that I heard anything of course, ermm...I mean I didn't _try_ to hear anything, but you did make a lot of noise...and I’ll just shut up now, Creators, I’m sorry. Are you done? I can’t hold the spell any more.”

 Hawke and Fenris went absolutely still, and then smiled at each other. Fenris rolled off her, and she sighed at the suddenly forlorn feeling of emptiness. She started gathering their clothes with trembling fingers, and as soon as they were both somewhat decent she cried out to Merrill to let Varric and Isabela go.

She cringed when she heard Isabela’s first comment. “Woohoo, Hawke! That sounded like some ride!”

Varric was less subtle. “I was afraid you were killing her Broody, the way she screamed. Did you get the wrong hole or something?”

Fenris reached out and grasped Hawke’s hand, trying to reassure her. She was beet red and biting her lip.

“Varric. Isabela. Kindly desist from meddling in our affairs.” He shouted to his companions. He then bent his head to tenderly kiss his blushing little Hawke before a cheeky smile lit up his face. “In other words,” he called to the rogues, “fuck off.”

Hawke raised surprised eyes to his face and then started hooting with laughter. But what surprised all of her companions, is that after a few seconds, another laughter joined her, rich, velvety soft, rusty from unuse.

Merrill looked up to the sky. “The end is nigh. Fenris is laughing.”

Isabela nodded enthusiastically. “A good shag will do that to you.” She then turned to Varric and winked. “How will we punish our little Dalish friend, Varric?”

Varric’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll think of something.”

**The end.**

 

 

 

 

 


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